Hmmm, maybe I should get into the cadaver business. That's a lot of money. Donk.

***

A Suspicious Hair Encounter, Example 1 (I hope this isn't a series.)

I am walking through Robinson's Place Manila in search of food and blank DVDs (the latter of which is located on the third and fourth floor, the former being found most anywhere). I am alone and it is evening and I am hungry but certainly I did not dream this up.

As usual, my hair is loose and free and I am happy with this arrangement. I am on the second floor of Robinson's at this time (right near the Guess? shop and the Potato Corner stall) and am how many steps away from the escalator that will take me to the third floor. I take one step, then...

Ow. I try again. Ow. A pain erupts from the back of my head and I wince. I realize that a lock of my hair seems to be restrained. I turn back and...

The man behind me has it in his hand.

I guess he sensed my annoyance because he quickly released it. I quickly got on the escalator before he could do anything else that was a) suspicious and b) injurious to my scalp.

Thankfully I have not seen this man (who actually looked like a normal man, around 26 years old) again.

***

After one week and three days of school, I've met almost all my teachers (except for the elusive Table Tennis teacher who still has not appeared for some reason). While I'd like to say that I like all my teachers, I don't. I can't.

One of my teachers has this voice that seems to clog my eardrums and is utterly incomprehensible at first hearing. When he opened his mouth, a snot-colored green mixed with brown wave flooded my senses and I was blinded with visual disgust. What I heard wasn't really much better. I couldn't understand the first three sentences he spoke at all; it was like he was speaking Russian with a really thick accent. With the fourth sentence, suddenly the Russian-like words melted away to English words still spoken with weird intonations and tonality which was a little bit better. I have a feeling that I will have to "reunderstand" his voice (and trust me, it's such an odd unique voice in a bad, er, unclear way) every meeting.

My new favorite classroom is my Humanities II classroom which has (other than good air conditioners and lighting) a large tv (more than 24+ inches), a piano (!!! - possibly the only piano in the Rizal Hall building), and a computer (which has not been turned on yet). It (the classroom) is also quite large and nice. It is also blindingly white, which allows me to see the color waves of my classmates/teacher very clearly.

[Note: Mortar in this story is a combination of cement, water, and sand. It is used to fill in the gaps between bricks.]

The first brick was laid when I heard of you.

Once upon a time, I didn't know you (and I bet you didn't know me). My friend knew you though, and she told me this: she didn't like you.

First step, first brick, first doubt.

The first brick is always the hardest to place. All the other bricks come easier, and eventually a brick wall will stand between us - one that cannot be scaled by either of us. This first brick can be removed, should be removed if the person even feels any goodness for that person across the brick. I left the brick there, no cement, no companions, just the brick.

A few months later, I was walking around with this same friend, when we saw you - rather, you saw us. Not knowing me, only knowing my friend, you broke into our private conversation to jabber on about something I held in my hand, something personal and definitely none of your business. We smiled politely yet when you left, my friend rolled her eyes and the second brick was laid.

A year passes, and the two bricks are left by themselves still. None have joined them, none have been removed. I'm about to pick up one and toss it away when you come by and speak to me. When you leave, I look for another brick and place it beside the one I was about to toss away.

The fourth and fifth and sixth come quickly. The seventh is much debated upon, I wonder if this is worth it, and I nod and place mortar on the first and the seventh on it. Later on I realize that there are ten blocks now and I realize that what I feel, these doubts, these feelings I have for you are real, they aren't just pale figments of my imagination. I really do hate you.

With speaking and writing and groupworks there come the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth block. I have two rows of bricks now, and the third one has been started. If I demolish it now, I'll have wasted a lot of mortar, a lot of bricks, a lot of time and feelings and neurons on you. If I demolish it now, I won't have to harbor these poisonous feelings for you, everyone's friend, and I'll feel better about myself.

I can't do it, and I lift the next brick and dip it in mortar. The sixteenth block seems lighter than the others; perhaps I'm getting used to this bricklaying joint.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen... eventually there are six rows and it's only been a few months. Can one hate another person so much in a few months to want to place a barrier between them? I guess so, or I wouldn't be doing this. I use the ladder my friend (the one who warned me about you) has given me to place the thirty-seventh block.

Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty... I wonder if I'll run out of bricks. I realize that the bricks will keep coming as long as you feed my antagonistic feelings. Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two... will the mortar run out? Will I still be able to reach the top of the wall with this ladder I use?

Will I still be able to knock down this wall if I decide to stop being mad at you, I wonder. I shrug my head and begin retouching the mortar. Ah well.

Another month, two months, three months, and I've just finished placing the seventy-fifth block on the top of the wall. I look down at you, you who is behind the wall I built. You smile at me, and I realize that you never realized what you were to me, that I hate you, that you are a mockery of all I stand for. I realize that this ladder is getting longer, the bricks and mortar aren't running out, the wall's so much higher than when I started it.

And I realize that the wall needs to be higher.

The bricks will never run out. The mortar will keep being mixed. The ladder won't stop getting longer.

When will I tire of laying out these bricks on this wall that keeps me from making friends with you?

Walls, if not tended to, will crumble. If I leave well enough alone, perhaps the wall will fall down. Maybe I'll just try again, start this friendship from square one, toss all the bricks and mortar away. Maybe I'll just walk away from you, let the wall crumble, never look at you or speak to you again. Being indifferent isn't as tiring as hating.

But I don't want to be friends with you.

I don't even want to try.

You don't even notice anyway.

***

Belated happy birthday to Joan-san, JF-san, and Celine-san :)

And (very very late) Congratulations Nya! :) :)

***

According to my notebook which has a lot of acronyms used in chatspeak printed on it, GASP is an acronym. Dingdong and I were both sufficiently horrified when we found out what it stood for.

GASP = Go Away Silly Person.

We were both horrified especially since we end up saying GASP to each other continuously at times (when we are shocked by an event or traumatized).

I shall now try to wean myself from this word. Somehow. :|

To everyone I have said gasp to (and accidentally insulted and asked to go away):I am really really really sorry. :( I was using it wrongly. :( (And I now realize that I used it in my last entry too. Gomen nasai :()